


Light Activity

by Draught



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Dirty Talk, Discussions about a rimjob, Dom/sub, Friends With Benefits, I don't know, M/M, Melodrama and Sarcasm, Oral Sex, Rope Bondage, Teasing, There are things going on in the background does that count as plot?, porn with
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-24
Updated: 2015-04-02
Packaged: 2018-03-19 11:12:14
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 7,861
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3607992
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Draught/pseuds/Draught
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Fighting the good fight with their <em>dear</em> Inquisitor leaves Dorian battered and wounded. He fears it to put a damper on his and Iron Bull's bedroom games, but the big oaf proves to be creative.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. First, the Surrender

The noble Andrastian Trevelyan Inquisitor distrusted magic. It was a point of contention between her and (the very few) mages of the Inquisition, during the fleeting moments that she would interact with them at all. It left relations with her magic practicing inner circle members complicated, _at best_. Surprisingly, Solas handled the Inquisitor better than Vivienne. Being an apostate and an elf, he was used to being misunderstood by humans. Dorian, however, did better than a dull acceptance tinged in barely suppressed bitterness.

He had practice. Dorian handled animosity with finesse. He wore other's contempt like it was in season. The buttons were right there and he knew what to do with them.

The Inquisitor would always travel with one of the three mages; sometimes two warriors, sometimes an extra rouge, but always one mage. It said something about her that she would alternate between the three of them as fairly as she did, because he knew the other two didn't push her like he did. Solas wouldn't want to bring the attention to himself and Vivienne still hoped to gain something from the Inquisition. Dorian just wanted to remind Lady Trevelyan that she had a Tevinter mage behind her whenever he got the chance.

It wasn't often. The mages learned quickly that their position in battle was to support the other two melee fighters. The Inquisitor wouldn't suffer the help. She would dash from barriers and slip away from enemies being assaulted by magic.

The only reason behind the behavior that could be determined was ignorance. She would not speak of it when asked. She would not speak often to him at all.

Still, she wasn't completely impervious. The Inquisitor fought with stealth and daggers, and every now and then, she did need the help. Where the others would lighten the load for someone else to go to her aid, he would offer it directly.

That was the reason why Dorian laid on the cold rough ground surrounded by the sick, wounded, and/or dying in Skyhold's sick bay. Hands were limited, so he held his own compress-the one keeping his guts from poking out-while all manner of potions were stuffed down his throat, and he waited for the only surgeon to be available for him. The good news was, at that particular moment, he was far too inebriated on whatever manner of poison they fed him to feel any sort of way about it.

The irony of the situation was if it hadn't been for his death magic he probably wouldn't be alive. Beyond the fluster of spooks and thrills, necromancy taught its students how to develop a tenacious will. Such a thing was needed when plucking at the strings of spirits and souls. As an added bonus, it helped him keep a clear mind enough to move back just the right way to avoid being sliced in half when a Venatori Brute's axe found itself embedded into Dorian deeper than their standard issued poultices could help with.

That wasn't a problem anymore, a voice was telling him, the person holding him up enough to force tonics upon him. He'd be taken care of soon.

It was the same voice that kept him awake and the same hand that held rejuvenation and lyrium potions to his lips during the two week journey back to Skyhold.

He was completely drained now, but at the time, Dorian knew just enough spirit magic to slow things down to 'excruciatingly painful' and 'life threatening' instead of, oh say, 'quick death'. It didn't make sense that she stayed so close to him while he struggled to concentrate, magic flaring every which way, when she had escaped so expertly from the barrier he had tried to cast over her; a barrier that should have been used for himself. If only he hadn't been so caught up in spiting her, if only he hadn't been distracted.

The Inquisitor pulled favors, harassed merchants, and arranged semi-suitable transportation the entire grueling trip back. She had argued with Cassandra over the correct herbs to pack in his wound to stave off infection. Those two never disagreed on anything. It was hard not to chalk the whole experience up to a delirious dream.

Another potion and awareness pushed back the fog in his mind. His limbs prickled, his body warmed. Scarlet tinged the compress.

Time rushed, then moved too slowly. Something putrid was being caked onto his stomach. Dorian gagged when the stench mixed with the smell of blood. It burned, because _of course_ , but the sensation was no more noticeable than his fast beating heart or sweating skin.

Someone was massaging his throat, encouraging him to keep swallowing, to keep the bile down. Until finally, the poultice ran its course. Dorian's abdominals spasmed and he heaved.

He expected to pass out, but his heart hammered away and his blood surged through his veins. Instead he watched the Inquisitor leave without looking back.

He stayed well into the evening. He calmed by then, marginally. The bottled adrenaline he'd taken over the last weeks left side effects. He would come down eventually, but right now he had three things; energy, pain, and agitation.

So, it really came as no surprise to himself when he decided on his next move. He wasn't willing to bet that they would simply discharge him, and once the crash hit he really would be stuck. He bid his time, drank the water they gave him like he'd been stranded in the Hissing Wastes, and made very certain not to bring any attention to himself what-so-ever.

He got his chance to slip away when one of the other sleeping patients started seizing. The stone steps to the upper part of the courtyard proved a challenge, but otherwise he was able to walk normally.

He eyed the stairs that would lead him inside to the main hall. There was no way to get out of this without a struggle, but what would he do once he was in his bed and his strength failed him? He couldn't do this on his own. As upset thoughts trickled in about his predicament, the Inquisitor, and the trauma of the last two weeks, he knew he couldn't do with his own company either.

The next idea stirred his anxiety, but he turned tail away from those stone steps in favor of others. He struggled up the way to the ramparts and leaned heavily on the stone half walls. It was a round about way to get to the room he was looking for, but one long stretch of stone steps had to beat three flights of wooden ones. Less staring patrons, if nothing else.

Worries as to whether or not this idea was a good one gave way to possibilities. Large grey hands could massage the ache out of this thighs. Lips and teeth against his neck would make him forget about his raw throat. Those arms could hold him securely, move him in ways he couldn't right now.

Eventually, the door was before him. Dorian swallowed, then managed to knock. He heard a grunt from inside that he was mostly sure translated to "it's unlocked", and let himself in.

Bull was sitting on his bed, covers askew. The buckles of his harness were undone, either he was in the process of putting it on or taking it off. His hand slipped away from the haft of the axe he kept plunged into the footboard.

On second thought, maybe Dorian should have announced himself. It was strange of him not to use the door connected to the tavern.

Bull never went anywhere or did anything without expecting some form of danger. Even in a fort as secure as Skyhold, even when he appeared relaxed or jovial, the assessment of his surroundings never stopped.

Dorian had been surprised at first when he'd caught on, though he shouldn't have been. The Iron Bull was, after all, an experienced spy. The good thing was the man could let it go once things checked clear, as many drunken nights in the tavern bellow could attest to.

"Dorian." He didn't sound all that pleased to see him, but the gears were turning in that head of his, Dorian was sure.

Bull's expression was harsh, but it couldn't match the venom of his own. He had to temper it down somehow. The last thing he needed was for an argument to start over nothing. He broke eye contact and breathed in through his nose. His nostrils must be flaring something fierce, unattractive. He had to do something, rant probably; make it clear what his anger was directed towards. And if he was disturbing the other man? Fine. He'd leave if he was told.

"I thought we had an agreement," Bull said. His tone was passive, and when Dorian met his eye he found a face to match. Bull must have read the confusion in his expression because he went on after a beat, "I provide the tub, you fill it, bring your fancy Tevinter oils, and I scrub away whatever's left over from killing vints."

Dorian's face, already warm, quickly reached scalding. He'd completely forgotten in his anger, but the conversation before he'd left Skyhold came flooding back. His unconscious gaze darted to an empty tub in the corner. Towels were folded neatly inside. Had Bull spent the entire afternoon waiting for him? He croaked, "Y-yes, well-"

" _And then_ ," Bull hadn't been finished, "After you're all blissful and pampered, I eat your hole 'til I can determine and identify each of the flower and wood oils used in the soap'. You were specific." He shrugged. "But if you're no longer interested..."

Dorian's ears were burning. He had said that. And how nice it would be if he could lift filled buckets to Bull's room or contort his body to fit in a tub. It was the simple, small things always taken for granted until they were plucked away. Shock turned momentarily to grief, and grief quickly turned to...Oh, as if he hadn't been mad enough before!

"I can't believe this!" He shrilled, "Was it not enough to be gouged through?! Must every circumstance work against me?"

He glared back to Bull who was standing at the foot of his bed, staring at Dorian with his brows knit. His harness was draped over the footboard. He was silent, tight lipped, arms folding over his chest.

Dorian laughed without mirth. "Thank you kindly for the offer," he gestured to the tub with an arm he outstretched a little too hard, not being able to completely hide the wince it caused, "But I've already had my freezing, uncomfortable rag wipe down for the day. Those surgeon tents let in quite the draft, I'll tell you!"

"Dorian," his voice was strong, grounding. "Tell me what happened."

The mage struggled against himself, before he sighed and brought his index and thumb to the bridge of his nose. "It was nothing. A close call, we've all had them. We'll be lucky to have more," his hand ran down his face, "What I don't understand is why having an experienced healer tend to the wounded seems to be equivalent to--to practicing blood magic in the garden!"

He turned away from the tub to face Bull fully. It was too much of a twist, a bit too fast. It hurt like hell and he had to take a moment to push back the pain before he was able to continue. "Sure, I probably won't die, but now we're short a mage until I recover," he grumbled, "Not that I expect the Inquisitor to care much."

Dorian **felt** it when Bull frowned at him, so rarely that he would. The moment paused, just enough time for Dorian to feel defensive against it.

"What I'm hearing, and seeing, right now is you're supposed to be resting. Like in a bed, not pacing around jostling your injury." Bull sounded far from pleased.

"'Jostling'," Dorian scoffed, "'Jostling', is it? Did I leave one of my books here or something?"

"Not to mention the stairs you had to climb to make it up here," Bull added as an after thought. Dorian paled. Not as bad as the descending and ascending it would take to get him back to his room.

"Look I-" Dorian swallowed before continuing, "I didn't come here to have you disapprove at me."

One of Bull's hands gestured towards him. "Yeah. Why did you come here?"

Dorian took a few breaths to string his thoughts together. "I can walk and I can sit down, but standing up again hurts like I might be tearing something. I'm afraid if I lay down I won't be able to get up on my own without making things worse. I know it's a lot to ask, but if I could stay here for a bit then I wouldn't have to sleep outside so a surgeon's hand could wait on me," he said. Once the words were out, they sounded worse than they did in his head. It was too far of a notion. Still, he steeled his resolve enough to keep Bull's eye.

The look on his friend's face softened somewhat, a slack that could have been caused by surprise. Slowly, half a smile tugged at his lips. Dorian had trouble deciding whether or not it was a smirk.

"You want my help?" Bull asked.

"Yes, well, I already know you have the power to manhandle me," Dorian answered quickly, and yes, without a doubt Bull was smirking.

He watched Bull's expression turn contemplative. His eye swept over Dorian's form, and the mage might have felt some way about that had he not looked so serious.

"Show it to me," he ordered.

"What, no dinner first?"

Bull snorted. "Later," he said, then motioned to Dorian's shirt, "But really, hike it up."

His will to be defiant trickling away, Dorian undid the buckles necessary to untuck his shirt. He rolled it up to his diaphragm, exposing a jagged twisting line of angry red flesh marring down to the left, rib to lower stomach. His vanity reminded him, yet again, that it was going to scar horridly.

Bull approached him then. He hunched over enough to take a look. "No stitches, huh. That was a good poultice they used," he said. A large hand slid up Dorian's side. It wasn't as light as he probably meant it to be, but Bull was careful. His fingers ran upwards, tracing the healed wound to the side of it, only touching the healthy bronze skin that broke out in gooseflesh beneath him.

Dorian's eyes flickered up to study Bull's face. He licked his lips before he spoke, voice dropping low, "The other reason I came here is because I could really use the distraction."

Bull met his gaze, looking weary. His hand brushed lower, almost to the waistband of Dorain's pants. Neither had to look down to know thick fingers brushed over nearly faded bruises that would fit their shapes. Then, Bull straightened, hand at his side.

The silence stretched.

"Ah, I see," Dorian tried to keep his tone light, "Too much to hope for?"

Bull sighed. Confliction pulsed off his body in waves. "I'm not exactly gentle, Dorian."

"No," he agreed carefully. It wasn't often that they toed these lines, breaking the circles they often walked around each other, but right now their words were being spoken very softly. "But you've always been considerate."

Dorian noticed the change after that, the way Bull's eye glazed over briefly, then rattled to different corners of the room. He'd noticed it countless times before. Bull was assessing the situation.

Seconds stretched by, but in under half a minute Bull tipped his head slightly, barely a nod. It appeared whatever conclusion he would come to, he now had.

A hand landed on Dorian's opposite shoulder, the other guided his hip so he could turn him around without twisting. Dorian tried to keep Bull's eye, but read nothing, until finally he had his back to him. Bull let go of his hip and Dorian was facing the door.

The door. So that was the answer. He tensed. He wanted to turn back around, say something scathing, but he wouldn't. He'd already promised himself that if he was told to leave, he would. There was no reason to stir things up; no reason to thrust obligations on top of...whatever it was they had.

Another hand landing on his other shoulder stopped Dorian from taking those few steps forward. They squeezed. Thumbs pressed circles into his tense muscles. Dorian hesitated, unsure what to do.

He felt warmth at his back as Bull closed the distance between them. His arms wrapped around and began unbuckling straps with fingers deft from practice. Dorian's breath quickened.

Curiously, instead of pulling off the shirt, his hands wrapped around Dorian's biceps. They kneaded at the muscles and worked their way down. Bull bent with them and Dorian could hear his breathing behind his ear. Strong hands circled around Dorian's wrists, as gently as Bull would argue against.

"Does it hurt right now?" Bull asked. It took a moment for Dorian to catch on that Bull wasn't asking about his sensual treatment, but about the closed flaring wound on his stomach.

He thought a moment before deciding on an answer. "It's bearable," he deflected.

"I'm going to lift your arms, one at a time. I know you usually don't mind some pain," there was a note of amusement in Bull's voice, gone just as quickly, "But I need you to be honest with me and I need you to stay still." His tone took the steel edge of a command. "You feel any additional discomfort at all, you'll tell me. Do you understand?"

"Yes," Dorian breathed, fully feeling the effects of Bull's voice.

"Yes, you what?"

"Yes, I understand!" The snap to his voice was second nature, unfortunately.

Bull paused for the briefest of moments. "Then repeat it for me," he growled.

Dorian turned his head back to stare at Bull incredulously. "You are insufferable," he accused. It was often like this, some sort of struggle involved, some sort of power game. It could be so difficult getting the other man to bend. He liked to tell himself it grew tiresome. Dorian liked to tell himself a lot of things.

Very slowly, a finger at a time, Bull let go of Dorian's wrists. "And you're being very stubborn for someone who asked for this," he murmured into his ear.

Dorian had to bite his tongue, partly because saying differently wouldn't make a difference, and partly because he knew what he was getting into.

Bull gripped Dorian's waist. "I'll give you what you want," he rocked his hips forward, "But we're doing this **my** way. At **my** pace. You know what you do to me when you're all bitter smiles and sharp words, but I'm not going to risk giving you more than you can handle."

He spoke so lowly, a growling secret. His breath was causing shivers down Dorian's spine. The mage shifted from one leg to the other, hoping to shift his pants in some way, hoping to be subtle.

"If you want to keep going down the road you're on, that's fine. The door's right there," Bull finished. All in one step back, he straightened to full height and retracted his touch.

Dorian's breaths were heavy as he stared resolutely at the door that had panged him with anxiety only a few minutes before. He let the seconds run on. It wasn't the first time he'd been given this kind of ultimatum, but it would be the first time he chose to stay.

He wet his lips. "I'll tell you if it hurts," he said steadily, wondering if that would be good enough.

It was. He heard Bull grunt out a noise right behind him, something approving, something strained.


	2. Then, the Prize

Bull's fingers brushed Dorian's left elbow before pushing it forward and up. His palm guided Dorian's arm around his neck as he bent and twisted, able to catch the mage's lips when he glanced back curiously.

The kiss itself was demanding, but Bull's hands steadied, caressed. He nudged Dorian's head aside with his cheek to lick and suck down his neck, then back up again. Dorian's nails dug into the base of Bull's scalp. No need to be gentle, he would hardly feel it otherwise.

Bull paused after a kiss behind Dorian's earlobe.

"If I tell you to do something, you do it," he said. How could words be smooth as silk _and_ tough as metal? "And if I give you a command you need to acknowledge, you say 'yes, ser'."

Dorian lifted an eyebrow, reminding himself that staying meant he was promising to put in the effort. To be honest though, he'd rather not have to worry about details and rules. Thinking was hard enough in situations like these, let alone mind reading.

He tried to fidget, but found the movement effectively stilled. Bull's attentions had stopped, he wasn't moving. His hands were holding Dorian in place. He was pretty sure Bull was holding his breath even. Dorian supposed that was a good enough hint.

"Yes, ser," he tasted the words in his mouth. It wasn't the first time he'd said them, no, there had been plenty of _yes ser, please ser_ 's and more. But begging during the heat of the moment was one thing. This was different.

A grey hand traveled up from Dorian's side to press around his neck. Thumb and index finger pushed on Dorian's jaw, tilting his head back, while the rest of the large hand settled firmly without tightening.

"Good," Bull said. It sounded soft, almost absent, and he followed it up with a teasing lick against the shell of Dorian's ear. It wasn't spoken with the vindication of a man getting his way, no, it was spoken with the airy reverence of praise. That simple word was as much to blame as Bull's attentions when Dorian's stomach flipped, his eyes fluttered closed, and he groaned.

Too quickly, Bull let go and straightened. He guided Dorian's arm upward and the other soon joined. Bull held Dorian's wrists above him and positioned himself so that was the only contact made.

"Is this alright?" He asked.

Dorian could feel a slight stretch, but so long as Bull didn't try to lift him this way, there'd be no pain. "Yes," he answered and added the belated "ser" when it became clear Bull wouldn't move on otherwise.

"Can you twist at all like this? What range of motion do you comfortably have?" He asked.

Carefully, Dorian tested it. He slowly turned his hips to the left, then to the right, stopping once the stretch pulled too tight. He noticed Bull take a step to the side, watching Dorian's limited movement with rapt attention. There were a couple more questions and prods before Bull let go of his wrists.

"Keep your arms up," he said.

Though his tone was hard to read, Dorian was quick to mutter a "Yes, ser" because an order like that sounded like a good chance of continuing.

Bull stepped in front of him. "Okay," he said somewhat distantly while looking down at the angry red skin on Dorian's stomach. Then, he pulled Dorian's shirt over his head, and flung it on top of his dresser. "We've got a good chance of this working out," he said.

Dorian couldn't see a trace of Bull's earlier doubt, so if he was still convincing himself he was doing an excellent job of it.

"You can put your arms down," he said, "Slowly."

Dorian tested this command by not verbally acknowledging it, but Bull only watched long enough to make sure it was followed before he headed over to the foot of his bed.

With an effortless yank, he pulled the hand axe out of the footboard. He walked to the head of the bed, grabbed a fistful of covers, and slid a knee onto the mattress. The axe flipped around in his grip, then slammed up-side-down into the lower center of the headboard. The haft jut out above the blade at a near 45 degree angle. He then folded a portion of the blanket and delicately wrapped it around the part of the blade not stuck on his bed.

Dorian watched all this, eyed the countless nooks and scratches the frame had already suffered, and said, "You know, eventually you won't even have a bed. You'll be sleeping on a pile of wood chips."

Bull shrugged as he shifted over to sit on the edge of the mattress, his knees spread apart. And _that_ looked like the place Dorian wanted to be.

Thankfully, Bull was of the same mind. Grey hands landed on Dorian's hips after he sauntered (to the best of his ability) over to stand between the other man's legs. Thumbs rubbed back and forth, soothingly, before they settled at the waistband of Dorian's pants.

"I need you to understand that whatever I do to you in this bed tonight, you still have control," Bull told him. Dorian was tall enough, and Bull slouched enough, that he had to look up to meet Dorian's eyes as he spoke. "And, like you have before, you'll need to exert that control if you feel pain or if I do something you don't like. Say 'katoh' and we'll stop. If you use it for a reason other than pain, I won't pry. No questions asked, like usual," he said.

Unease settled over Dorian. "What if, hypothetically speaking, I do say 'katoh'. Then I leave, right?" He asked.

He watched Bull's perfect mask of control break into confusion. "Maybe if you start bleeding, but I thought you wanted..." Bull trailed off as his eye flickered over the mage's face.

Dorian knit his brows, searching for words to better explain himself. He got as far as a hesitant "Earlier," when suddenly Bull's eye widened and he became very still.

"Ah," he said, and firmly, "No." Then, he somehow managed to address Dorian's fears directly. "And I wouldn't have made you leave earlier. Not by yourself, not in your condition."

As guarded as Dorian had been able to keep his face during his question, he completely failed to hide the relief he felt at those words. Bull sighed, then apologized.

"I got caught up in the moment," he chuckled, but it sounded empty, "Flare for the dramatic, I think you're rubbing off on me. 'The door' was a proverbial one."

The smile dropped from Bull's face, and he leaned back to eye Dorian with suspicion. "Wait. That isn't the reason you agreed to this, is it?" He asked.

Dorian set Bull's worries to rest with a smirk. "No, I'm confident my pride would have taken me up and down a hundred more steps, should I not have agreed," he said.

He watched the heat return to Bull's stare. "Good," he growled as his grip around Dorian's pelvis tightened. This time the word was filled with all the vindication of a man getting his way, so it wasn't fair that it effected Dorian much the same as before.

That matter set aside, Bull tackled Dorian's pants and smallclothes. His underwear was more utility than the silky things he liked Bull to strip him of slowly, but thankfully nothing was said about it. Bull helped ease Dorian to lay down, his legs dangled off the bed at his knees.

"Don't move" he ordered like Dorian had a plan to do something else, like he would even bother with the struggle to do so.

Dorian sighed. "Yes, ser," he said indulgently. Bull paused.

Dorian watched Bull's eye narrow and the corner of his lips turn down. Maybe it had to do with the fact that he was standing so far above him, or maybe this game was effecting Dorian more than he'd care to admit, but Bull's stare down was menacing.

He'd already said the thing. Better, he had to do it better. "Yes, ser," he repeated without the previous inflections and let out a breath when Bull turned away.

He tossed the rest of Dorian's clothes on the dresser and then opened the top drawer. He took his time rummaging through what was inside before pulling out long strips of fabric to pile in his arms. He crossed his way back to Dorian and tossed the tangled mess onto the bed.

"Sorry I couldn't have this ready before hand," Bull said with a tug at his lips. He fished out an end without much trouble and pulled the loose tangles apart.

The light wasn't great, but Dorian was close enough now to recognize the textile, deep blue silk brocade. He caught sight of an indentation between sections, undoubtedly fine stitching keeping the measured scraps together. Well done, none the less, someone took their time on it.

"Have you been scavenging in the Undercroft?" Dorian accused playfully. Bull kept his eye on his task, but the spreading grin was hard to miss.

Dorian eyed the brocade ribbons after Bull had separated and looped them neatly on the bed. There were two, they were quite long, and Dorian wondered what Bull planned to do with them. Perhaps he'd be tied to the bed, one for his ankles and the other for his wrists? But what of the axe in the headboard?

He almost flinched when Bull's warm hands spread over his thighs. His breath quickened and the anticipation of the touch stirred his excitement in a way he wasn't ready for. Bull could see, he would know.

Dorian felt the heat radiating from Bull's body as he leaned over him. He braced his heavy weight with an arm digging into the mattress near Dorian's head. The sink caused his head to turn and Bull took the opportunity to kiss his neck. It was feather light, more breath than lips. Dorian sighed shakily. He felt caged, it wasn't unpleasant.

"Patience," Bull growled to Dorian's burning cheeks. He pushed himself back up with a grunt and eyed Dorian's lower half, contemplative. The mage had a quip on his tongue, as it was no big mystery what his growing erection was interested in.

Alas, he didn't get to use it. Bull's hands landed on Dorian's legs again, but they weren't hands meant to caress. "Does this hurt?" He asked as he turned Dorian's leg one way to the other, pulled his ankle to meet his bottom thigh, and pushed his bent leg toward his stomach. Bull repeated the question to Dorian's 'no, ser's' as he carefully tested his limits with one leg then the other.

Once satisfied, Bull draped a ribbon of fabric over one leg and got to work. Difficult as it was for Dorian to see in his position, he could still feel the silk being pulled and tied over his skin. Some portions were twisted, closer to rope in feel than ribbon. Some areas were tied loosely, others tightened, secured. The sensations were entirely new.

He craned his neck and shoulders to try to peek down, to see something other than Bull's horns and reverent downcast expression. The strain in his working abdominals was worth it to get a glimpse of deft fingers tying intricate knots and handling the ribbon so precisely. One of those hands reached out to press Dorian back down on the bed.

"Stay still," Bull said. Dorian could hear the admonishment in his voice for having to repeat an order.

The pressure didn't leave his chest until he bit out a "Yes, ser."

Bull finished wrapping both of Dorian's legs in silk rope. Deep blue brocade held each leg in a bend, ankle connected to thigh with plenty of give between them. He couldn't straighten, but otherwise he could move them.

"How does it feel?" Bull asked as he worked fingers underneath certain points, testing the give between ribbon and skin. Dorian wasn't sure how to answer. "Bad?" Bull supplied, but there was a teasing edge to his voice.

"No," the word left Dorian's mouth quickly, "Ser." A thumb inched its way upward to stroke at the skin between groin and inner thigh. Dorian breathed in through his nose and out his mouth a couple of times. Maker, was he hard. "I'm about to be a wreck if you don't do something soon," he said as steadily as he could.

Bull gently snaked his hands underneath Dorian to slowly turn his body on the bed. He lifted Dorian's arms above him and back to guide his hands to the haft of the axe in the headboard. Dorian gripped it tightly, something to anchor onto.

"Don't let go," Bull ordered, and Dorian's response was quick and breathless.

It was then that Bull finally undid his large belt and tugged down his pants. Both fell to the floor forgotten, and his boots quickly followed.

Calloused fingers scratched over Dorian's nipples, down his chest and stomach. Dorian's eyes flicked up to the ceiling when Bull walked out of his limited line of sight. He felt a shift on the mattress, the sink at the foot of the bed.

Bull spread Dorian's bound legs as wide as he dared. "Nice," he drew the word out, "I like you like this."

" _Please_ ," Dorian begged, blind beyond what he could feel, the haft of an axe, and the ceiling above him.

He felt hot breath on the inside of his thigh, then lips, teeth, a tongue. Bull kissed and sucked his way up. Blunt nails bit into Dorian's skin. Bull's large flat tongue pressed firm and wet up his balls, up his cock; trapping it between Bull's hot mouth and his fluttering stomach.

Dorian groaned as Bull lavished attention up and down the underside of his prick. He gave brief, teasing licks to the head, and each one felt like something stolen. Bull pressed Dorian's hips down into the mattress, all attempts to buck, to squirm, to move proved futile.

He felt the drag of teeth follow a thick vein and hissed. Those teeth could slice through him, that jaw could crush him, the bruising grip holding his legs could snap his bones. Dorian throbbed under the danger, for the trust. Bull's mouth closed around the head of Dorian's cock and it felt like a reward.

Bull took him deep. Dorian brushed the back of his throat again and again. Then Bull swallowed, nose digging into coarse dark curls. Dorian didn't bother to bite back his moans at the feeling of a tight throat.

"Bull, I-" Dorian bit out, teeth grit, "I'm close!" It was habit, his lover liked to know.

Bull heeded the warning and Dorian's cock slipped out of his mouth. Dorian felt harsh pants cool over his soaked flesh, but then that faded as well. He didn't whine, he wouldn't.

Instead, he chewed on his tongue as he waited for something, anything. Bull let go of one leg. Long seconds passed.

"In this bed, you'll call me 'Ser'," Bull said. His voice was dark, hungry, and the word took on a new connotation.

"Yes, Ser," Dorian said eagerly, desperate even.

Then, he felt a warm slick pressure on his anus. Bull's oiled finger massaged his hole before pressing in, slow but forceful. He took Dorian's cock into his mouth again and pressed a thumb into his taint. Bull set a quick rhythm, finger hooking inside as hot mouth engulfed him. Dorian couldn't last.

"Please! Please, Ser," He begged this time, eyes screwed shut. Everything tensed, everything tightened. Bull kept going, he let Dorian unravel.

He came in Bull's mouth, great spurts to rival Bull's swallows, moaning and gasping. Bull wouldn't miss a drop, he didn't have to look to know that.

Horns came back into view as Bull eased himself up. Another slick finger pushed its way inside, the pace didn't let up. Dorian's heart pounded. He was sensitive, but aching for more. He wasn't coming down yet.

"Do you want to continue?" Bull ground out.

"Maker, yes. Yes, Ser," Dorian answered. Couldn't he tell? Dorian couldn't have lost much if any of his hardness.

"Fuck," Bull groaned as his fingers scissored, stretching Dorian out. "Let go of the axe," he ordered.

Dorian let go, hands moving to dig into the sheets instead. He focused on breathing as Bull's fingers spread deep before retreating, and Dorian was left wanting and empty.

Bull pushed himself off the bed to stand over Dorian, his cock swollen purple and angry. Obvious tension stiffened his shoulders and limbs, but he exerted perfect control as he helped lift Dorian to lay with his bottom at the edge of the side of the mattress.

"Lay your arms above your head," he ordered while fishing for his pillow.

Dorian did as told. Bull supported his neck while placing the pillow for his head to rest on.

"Now, hold that pillow behind your head," he ordered, and Dorian found himself with a better view than before, "Good."

Dorian watched Bull's cock twitch with appreciation as he palmed for the bottle of oil, eye too busy raking up and down Dorian's body. It was found quickly enough. He lubricated himself, hand squeezing tight. His eye closed briefly, from the relief Dorian would bet.

Bull closed the short distance, wasting no more time. He held one of Dorian's legs out of the way, slick hand gripping the base of his cock to guide himself. He pressed against Dorian's hole, hips rocking more insistently each time until firm enough to penetrate.

"You're so good," he praised as he pushed in slowly. He moaned, long and soft with each inch, and Dorian used all his will power to stay quiet enough to hear that beautiful sound.

He pulled out slightly to push in farther than before, then repeated the motions to Dorian's vocal encouragements. Bull stilled once he bottomed out and Dorian groaned from being filled so completely. He wiped the oil off his hand onto the bed sheet, then grabbed Dorian's other leg.

Oddly enough, he didn't move it for easier access. Bull pulled out until only the head of his cock remained, then positioned both legs so that the twisted brocade that connected Dorian's ankles to his thighs dug into the sides of Bull's hips when he thrust forward. With that, he set a slow pace.

Dorian didn't understand the purpose to all that, but the confusion faded to the background each time Bull's thick cock pushed deep inside him.

"You're going to be at it forever like this," Dorian smirked up at him.

"Are you complaining?" Bull asked, voice hitching with the mild exertion, darkened with pleasure. Intoxicating.

"Hardly," Dorian purred.

"The goal is to keep this going until you heal, then _wreck_ you," Bull growled.

Dorian tried to suppress his laugh so his stomach wouldn't jump too much. Considering Bull's marathon stamina, the former wasn't too far of a stretch. The latter might've been completely serious, though. Dorian could only hope.

His eyelids drooped as he focused on breathing and staying relaxed. The pain that had gnawed at him for hours slipped away until lost in the pleasure. For some minutes, the rhythm stayed constant. Bull felt like the tide. It was meditative.

A hitch in that rhythm, a snap of Bull's hips softened just enough by the resistance of the rope digging sharply into his skin, pulled Dorian's attention back to the surface. Bull's hulking frame was hunched over, his unblinking eye bored into Dorian's. His harsh grip on Dorian's legs tightened and relaxed, over and over. His control had slipped.

Sweat dripped off the tip of his nose onto Dorian's stomach, where it rolled over his scar. Dorian's gaze followed it and so did Bull's. The sight proved to be sobering enough, as Bull let out a long shaking breath.

Dorian's cock throbbed. He found himself caught between concern for his friend and guilt over how hot the sight of Bull, wound so tightly and cracking, was making him. Was it wrong that he trusted Bull, even at both their expense? A fool question, of course it was, but he hadn't a mind to care.

"Dorian," Bull's voice was gravel and sex. Dorian moaned.

That sharp eye snapped up to meet his. Whatever Bull saw there had him resuming his pace. The thrusts were still slow, but not as smooth; the silk brocade served as constant reminders. Harsh hands squeezed Dorian's thighs each push in, there would be bruises. It hardly mattered.

"Touch yourself," Bull ground out the order.

Dorian pried the fingers of one hand off Bull's pillow. He might have held his cock too tightly. He might have stroked too roughly. And if Bull's groan was anything to go by, he might have noticed.

He still had a mind to ease things up for Dorian, whether or not he wanted him to. Bull spit out a glob of saliva over Dorian's cock and hand. It really shouldn't have turned him on, but it was attentiveness mixed with that perfect touch of debasement that was _just so Bull_. Dorian didn't stand a chance.

He worked his prick hard and fast as Bull fucked him, growing steadier. The contrast helped spur him on, made his balls tighten.

"I'm close, Ser," he managed through grit teeth.

"I want you to come all over yourself," Bull growled.

Dorian snorted, there wasn't much else were it could go.

"Then, _I'm_ going to come all over you," Bull said lowly.

Dorian went over the edge with that image in mind. Hot streaks of semen coated his stomach, more than he would think for his second orgasm. He pushed his head back into the pillow and gasped, then groaned when Bull pulled out of him.

With half lidded eyes, he watched Bull pump his own cock through his fist. It was a damn pleasing sight.

Bull was sharing similar sentiments. "You are so fucking beautiful like this," he groaned.

Dorian stroked himself lightly through the sensitivity, eyes all on Bull.

He came with a rumble that sounded like it never left his chest. His aim was true, hitting Dorian on his stomach, chest, and one particularly impressive spurt touched the edge of his chin.

Bull leaned over him without care for the mess, one arm bracing his weight and the other hand slipping under Dorian's neck. Bull licked the bit of semen on Dorian's chin, then crashed their lips together, hot and messy. Dorian broke two commands to grab Bull's horns. It was always terribly amusing how easy it was to steer Bull around whenever he did that.

He lowered Bull's face to his neck, thinking he was going to get away with it, when the kisses turned into sharp bites. Oh well, punishments could be pleasurable too in their own ways.

Dorian didn't yelp until Bull pinched his butt, hard. He shot his best withering glare down at Bull, but all he got back was a laugh.

"You're in no condition to take too much abuse right now, but you'd better still watch it. I might not go so easy on you next time," Bull smirked and pushed himself back to standing.

Dorian huffed as Bull walked over to the unused tub and snatched one of the towels. He wiped himself off with one side, and folded it as he walked back to the bed. He cleaned Dorian off with the other side, then tackled the task of the knotted ribbons. He was careful with them, probably planned to use them again sometime.

Dorian wouldn't be adverse to the idea.

Bull helped Dorian stretch out his legs, then returned things to their proper places (as far as Bull's chaotic organization went, anyway). He offered some elfroot to chew on for Dorian's bruises, but the mage declined with a "I'd rather not, thank you," and an impressively nauseous look on his face. He might've actually gone green.

Soon enough, they were both comfortable lounging on Bull's bed together. Bull was tracing the skin surrounding Dorian's scar with a face far too bland to be convincingly neutral.

"I'll give you a hint," Dorian pulled Bull away from his thoughts.

"Hmm?"

"You know, after I've recovered enough to haul buckets of water up here."

"That's gonna be a good sight to see," Bull said, and squeezed Dorian's bicep with an appreciative grunt.

"There are three different oils to discern from, and only one of them is a mix strictly specific to Tevinter," Dorian said, matter-of-factly.

Bull was quiet for a moment before Dorian felt rather than heard a soft chuckle against his ear. "You may as well be asking me to discern between nug farts for all I know about Tevinter essential oils."

"Vulgar! And a really unflattering analogy when I think about it," Dorian sounded impressed. The large hand around his arm traveled down to grab his hip.

"You and I both know I'll rim you until you start begging for my cock instead of my tongue," Bull said with a smirk and a sharpening glint in his eye.

Dorian pretended to be unaffected, even when that strong hand slid away from his hip to his groin. "And there you went and spoiled it," he said with a sigh that held more pleasure than disappointment.

Bull shrugged. "That wasn't the real question anyway."

The conversation took pause for him to shift over Dorian enough to capture his lips. The mage moaned into the kiss, as Bull's playful tugs at Dorian's growing length changed to firm strokes. Dorian gripped Bull's forearm, and sucked at his lower lip until the other man finally pulled away.

His cock really had no business responding like it was, but Dorian blamed it on his potion induced invigoration.

"The _real_ question," Bull repeated, giving Dorian's prick one last squeeze before letting go, "Is whether or not I give it to you." He then carefully rolled and lifted himself off the bed.

Dorian had a quip in mind to challenge Bull into finishing what he'd started, but whatever first syllable he was about to say choked in his throat. Distracted as he was, he had shifted and turned to go after Bull. The flare of pain extinguished as he immediately laid back down. His arm landed over his eyes as he fought his grimace.

"Oh," he breathed, remembering he would need help to simply leave the bed without stabbing pain.

He turned his head to stare at Bull with one eye from under his arm to see him settling his bulk on top of a straining wooden chair. His leather harness was in his naked lap and there was a bottle of leather oil next to the chair legs.

"You are evil," he ground out, wishing that harsh looks alone could be the feather that snapped the rickety piece of furniture under the lug's heavy weight.

"Get some rest," Bull said passively, but the smile that pulled at his lips was dangerous. When his hungry gaze shifted to Dorian's rekindling erection, he added, "Once you can."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Whew! All finished. Thanks for reading, hope you enjoyed it!


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